


Late Nights

by prepare4trouble



Series: Little By Little [39]
Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Discussion of Previous Events, Gen, Mentions of Lasan, Staying out Late, Visually Impaired Ezra Bridger, Zeb's secret waffle stash, bad coping strategies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-10 16:07:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12915399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prepare4trouble/pseuds/prepare4trouble
Summary: Ezra had a bad day. Zeb offers advice, waffles, and a friendly ear.





	1. Chapter 1

It was late, and Ezra still hadn’t come back to their quarters.  Zeb wasn’t worried, Ezra had never been a stranger to late nights, and recently they had become part of his normal routine.  That was fine; normal.  He  _was_  a kid, late nights and bad decisions were part of the job description.  Zeb just hoped he wasn’t making too many bad decisions, but there was only so much trouble someone could get into on the base, it wasn’t like his own adolescence back on Lasan. **  
**

Anyway, although Ezra hadn’t actually said so, it was a reasonable assumption that disclosing his medical condition would have earned him some medical leave, so it wasn’t like he would have duties to get on with early in the morning, and considering what he was facing, Zeb wasn’t going to begrudge him a few drinks at the races.

Enforced R&R was frustrating; Zeb knew that from his own experience of recovering from injuries, and from watching members of his team do the same, back when he had been in the Honor Guard on Lasan.  This was probably worse than that for Ezra.  It wasn’t like when Kanan was injured and had been recovering, the kid probably felt like nothing was wrong most of the time.

Well, no.  He probably felt like something was  _very_  wrong, but he didn’t get to spend the downtime recovering from an injury; instead, he had to sit around and wait for it to get worse.  So of course he wanted to distract himself with a few late nights.  It probably wasn’t a good way to react, but it was a reaction that Zeb had seen before, and to much more minor problems.

Not that it would have been up to him anyway, it wasn’t like he was Ezra’s commanding officer, and he didn’t want to be.  If Hera wanted to deal with it, or Kanan, that was up to them.  He didn’t envy them that task.  Although, he wondered if they even knew it was happening.

Well, if not, he wasn’t going to be the one to tell them.

Zeb did worry though, more than he should, probably.  For all they still fought and argued, teased each other, and disagreed over the lighting in their quarters at night, he cared about the kid, and he thought the feeling was mutual.  But in the absence of any way to help, he was still going to take advantage of the situation; if Ezra wasn’t there, Zeb could have the lights out until he fell asleep.

He hadn’t exactly been lying when he had told Ezra the light didn’t bother him, but it did make it more difficult to drop off to sleep, and he was sure he slept worse as a result.  He didn’t mind much, not if it helped the kid to cope, but until Ezra turned up,  the lights were staying off.

* * *

Zeb was drifting just on the edge of sleep, dream imagery beginning to press against his waking thoughts, when he heard the door slide open.  Instantly alert, his eyes snapped open, his warrior’s instinct ready to defend him if necessary.

It wasn’t necessary, of course.

The light from the hall outside flooded into the room.  Ezra didn’t enter right away.  Instead, he hesitated in the doorway.  Backlit by the light beyond, he was a dark silhouette framed by the door.  His head moved left to right as he looked around the room, then took a decisive step forward without switching on the light in their quarters.  He took an audible breath as the door closed behind him, plunging the room into darkness.

For a moment, it seemed to be much darker than it had been before the door opened.  Zeb blinked and waited for his eyes to readjust.  They did so quickly.  Although the lights were out, the room was lit by two thin illumination strips that allowed in the smallest bit of light.  Not enough to disturb sleep, but enough that the room’s occupant would be able to see  _something_  with the lights out.  Not to see  _well_ , but enough to make out the shapes of the room around them.  Well, for Zeb to, anyway.  For someone with normal night vision.

Ezra was a dark shape against the gray of the wall.  Zeb peered through the darkness, watching him.  He remained there, completely still except for his head, which turned as he looked  – or didn’t look, as the case may be – around the room again.  He stopped, face angled toward one of the illumination strips.  It was probably the only thing that he could see, not bright enough for him to actually see  _by_  but presumably bright enough that his eyes could pick it out among the darkness.

For now, anyway.

Zeb heard Ezra draw in a deep breath and expel it through pursed lips, like he was steeling himself for some unpleasant or difficult task.  The kid moved his head again, staring out across the room like he was looking for something.  Maybe looking for  _anything_.

Total darkness could be disconcerting.  If Zeb was right, and that was what Ezra was seeing when he looked away from the lights, he was probably trying to force his eyes to adjust, or maybe trying to confirm that they weren’t going to.  Zeb continued to watch, feeling a little guilty, very aware that Ezra probably didn’t know he was being observed.  He tried not to feel like he was spying.

Finally, Ezra slowly unfolded his arms.  He reached out ahead of him with one hand, but placed the other on the wall behind him like an anchor.  His hand hovered in the air ahead of him, not like he was searching for something; it didn’t sweep through the air, it simply led the way as he took two slow, careful steps forward.

When he was far enough into the room that he could no longer keep his grip on the wall, that hand joined the other, hovering ahead of him as he took a few more small and hesitant steps.

After a painfully long trip across the room, he reached the small desk where he kept his collection of Imperial helmets and other junk.  He reached out until the backs of his fingers knocked against the edge, and then carefully unhooked his lightsaber and placed it on the surface.  He removed something else from his belt too, smaller and more cylindrical, and placed that next to the weapon.  That done, he turned ninety degrees, his hands skimming through the air, searching for the ladder to gain access to his bunk.  

Now that he was closer, it was more painfully obvious how little Ezra could see.  Zeb had known that already, from the way he moved, and from what he knew about the syndrome that was stealing Ezra’s sight, but at this distance he could see him so much more clearly.  His eyes were open far too wide, as though he subconsciously believed that if he could just make them large enough, they would allow enough light in.

The uncomfortable feeling that he was catching a glimpse of the future came over Zeb, and he tried to push it away.  Or maybe not the future, maybe it was an unwelcome reminder of the past; of Kanan, in the early days, when Zeb had felt helpless as he stood there in daylight, watching Kanan fumble in the dark.

Ezra located the ladder and put a foot on the first rung, then paused and let out a frustrated sigh.  He reached down, and unfastened his boot.  He placed it carefully on the floor, then repeated the whole procedure with the other one.  That done, he picked them both up, and turned around, aiming himself back in the direction of the door.

Surely he wasn’t going to repeat the whole awkward, difficult thing in reverse, put his boots away, and then return to the bunk? It was going to take him forever.

There was a difference here though, between Ezra now, and Kanan in the early days after their failed mission.  There was one simple way that Zeb could help.

Slowly, he reached over to the light control above his bed, and flicked it on.

Bright light exploded from the lighting units above his head, and Zeb instinctively closed his eyes.  When he opened them again, Ezra was still standing in the exact same position, boots clutched tightly in one hand, the other arm covering both of his eyes.  The visible lower half of his face wore a pained expression.

A pang of guilt hit Zeb hard, and he realized he had no idea how Ezra’s eyes might react to a sudden onslaught of light.  It hadn’t been pleasant for Zeb, and he had both normal vision and the benefit of knowing it was coming.

“Sorry,” Zeb said sheepishly.  “It looked like you might’ve been having some trouble finding the light switch.”

Ezra slowly peeled back his arm to reveal eyes half closed in a wary squint.  He turned to face Zeb, and folded his arms again.  It was a gesture that Zeb recognized, one the kid did when he was feeling insecure.  He was still holding the boots in one hand, and they now hung at his side   “No.  I was trying not to wake you up,” Ezra told him.  His words were tinged with frustration and he was staring down at the floor like he didn’t want to look Zeb in the eye.

He was lying.  Or, no.  Maybe he had thought Zeb might sleep through it, but there was more to it than that.  If that had really been the extent of it, Ezra would have used the flashlight that Zeb could now see was the object he had placed next to his lightsaber, or he might have turned the light on, but more dimly than Zeb had.  He had, Zeb realized with a chill, been  _practicing_.  He had been testing himself, testing what he was capable of doing without seeing.

And Zeb had blundered in and ruined it.

Although, the kid  _had_  almost gotten in bed wearing his boots, and Zeb wasn’t sure whether Ezra had forgotten to change his clothes, or simply decided it would be too difficult.  Either way, the experiment hadn’t been a huge success.

Ezra wasn’t going to admit what he had been doing, of course, and so Zeb decided to play along.  “Well, you did wake me up,” he said.  “And I told you before, having the light on is fine.  It’s better than you shuffling in the dark anyway.  You’re not quiet, you know.”

Ezra spun around.  He moved over to the closet and and thrust his boots inside with a little more force than was really necessary.  He stayed there, kneeling on the floor, staring into the open closet; his breathing was slow and controlled, but like he was putting genuine effort into keeping it that way.  “Right.  I’ll try to shuffle more quietly in future,” he said.

Zeb sighed.  Whatever he said to Ezra lately seemed to be the wrong thing.  “No, look,” he tried.  “I didn’t mean…” He gave up.  It was hopeless.  If he tried to make it better, it was just going to make it worse.  “Sorry,” he said instead.  

“It’s fine,” Ezra said quietly.  He wiped a hand quickly across his face, then closed the closet door, turned back around and crossed the room in three quick steps.  He clambered up the ladder into the top bunk, still without bothering to change into his nightclothes.  

But it wasn’t fine.  For some reason, every conversation he had now with Ezra seemed to follow the same course; Zeb saying something without thinking, Ezra taking it the wrong way, an awkward pause, an apology, and silence.  It couldn’t go on like that.  The definition of ‘normal’ had shifted now, it was shifting still.  It was in a state of flux, and Zeb still wasn’t sure where it was going to end up, but one thing he knew for certain was that it couldn’t be allowed to end  _here_.  It had taken time for he and Ezra to get to a point where they were entirely comfortable with one another, but now that they were there, he didn’t want to lose it.

He needed to keep the conversation going.  But what could he say that wouldn’t come back around to the topic that he needed to avoid? He couldn’t ask Ezra about his day; it was obvious something had happened.  Something that had prompted him to attempt to get around without vision.  Whatever it was, Ezra probably didn’t want to talk about it.  If he did, he wouldn’t have lied about why he didn’t turn the light on.

Or, maybe trying not to talk about it was the problem.  It definitely hadn’t been doing Ezra any good so far.  Zeb understood not talking, he had plenty of bad memories of his own, a lot of those he hadn’t wanted to discuss.  Often though, it seemed they only started to get better after he did.  It wasn’t the talking, it was what talking did; making a thing he had previously been afraid to say aloud become less taboo.  Something that could be put into words was more comfortable to live with.

But how could he say that without the kid taking it the wrong way?  Zeb would have taken it the wrong way if, as he recovered from his wounds after the massacre on Lasan, some well meaning fool had come over and said, “Hey, it’s okay, you just need to keep talking about it.” That had been the last thing he had wanted to do.

Even now, he didn’t speak of it often.  But the difference was that he  _could_.

Maybe it was a lesson that Ezra needed to work out for himself, and even if it was something that Zeb would be able to demonstrate to him sometime, now wasn’t that time.  It was late, and they were both tired.

Still, he  _couldn’t_  leave it like that.

So maybe he couldn’t ask Ezra about  _his_  day, but there was nothing in his own day that could bring up uncomfortable thoughts for Ezra.  At least, Zeb didn’t think there was.

He cleared his throat and turned onto his back to face the bunk above.  “So, I had an interesting day today,” he said.

There was a quiet creak from the bunk above, as Ezra turned over, but no response.

“Hera had me out doing a perimeter sweep,” he elaborated, and chuckled.  “You would not believe the crazy stuff I found out there.”

For a moment, he thought Ezra wasn’t going to reply again.  The silence felt heavy and thick.  Finally, the bunk creaked again.  “What kind of stuff?” Ezra asked.

Zeb smiled, relieved to be getting somewhere.  “It looks like people have been using that area near the perimeter beacons for all kinds of reasons.  Makes sense; it’s still safe from the spiders, but it’s so far out of the base itself that nobody’s going to bother them.”

“Uh… yeah… I guess that does make sense.” Ezra stammered.  “That’s okay though, right? I mean, there’s nothing wrong with going there.”

He sounded nervous, and Zeb couldn’t help but wonder what  _he_  might have been getting up to out there.  Ezra had had a lot of time on his hands lately, and he hadn’t been spending it in the Ghost.  A lot of nights he’d been at the races, but the rest of the time?  He had to have been somewhere…

“I don’t know,” Zeb said, trying not to sound like he was smirking at the kid’s discomfort.  “Maybe I should start setting up patrols out there, just to make sure nobody’s getting up to anything they shouldn’t.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Ezra insisted.  “People can’t be doing anything too bad, right? Surely we…  _they_  have a right to some privacy.”

Zeb frowned, now he was  _really_  curious what Ezra had been up to.  “Yeah,” he said.  “That was a joke.  We don’t have the resources to have someone patrolling the perimeter.”

Silence, but a more comfortable one now.  Then, “So, what stuff did you find?”

He had found a lot.  Most of it had been hidden.  He had spent a good portion of the day uncovering buried treasure, using the word very loosely.  Some of it was nothing to worry about, like the burnt-down candles scattered on the ground that he had taken for the remnants of someone’s romantic picnic or night of passion, or possibly even some kind of religious ceremony.

Others, like the small quantity of dangerous explosives that almost definitely belonged to Sabine, were of more concern.  He didn’t doubt that she knew what she was doing, but having something like that out there made him uneasy.  He was going to have to have a discussion with her about it, maybe talk about finding alternative storage facilities.  It wasn’t like the stuff would be easy to get at in a hurry out there anyway.

On the other hand, maybe it was better stored out of the way than in the base or the storage depot where an accident could get people killed, or destroy valuable supplies and equipment.

Other things, though they seemed innocuous, could be more problematic than they appeared, like the hole he found that had already been excavated by some kind of local wildlife.  He knew it hadn’t been the spiders, because they couldn’t cross the beacons, and he didn’t think it was the dokma, because he didn’t think they would be capable of it.  But  _something_  had dug up a shallow hole where someone had been storing a secret stash of ration bars, and left only crumbs and chewed up wrappers behind.

Zeb didn’t like the idea that there might be creatures out there that he didn’t know about.  Creatures with teeth.

“Someone had a bonfire out there,” he said.  “No idea how we missed that.  Only small, but definitely recent.  There was a bunch of junk out there too, like a datapad with a broken screen.  It still works, I don’t know if it was left there because it was broken, or left by accident and broken later.  I brought it back for repairs anyway.”

It occurred to him that if Ezra had been out there, any one of those things could have been his doing.  Well, not the datapad, because his device was a different spec to that one, but the fire, the food, maybe even — but probably not — the candles.

There was one thing that he knew with absolute certainty had nothing to do with Ezra.  Zeb got out of bed and opened a drawer.  The thing was still there, sitting on the top of the few items contained there.  It was a small magazine, printed with ink on flimsi rather than in the standard digital format.  He had found it half buried not far from the site of the bonfire, one page uncovered and rippling in the wind like a flag marking the spot.

“This is the worst thing,” Zeb said, and handed it to Ezra.  He wasn’t sure how it had even come to be on the base, presumably some members of the Rebellion were willing to put aside their hatred of the Empire for a few minutes on occasion.  Zeb wasn’t surprised they kept it hidden though.

Ezra took the small magazine, and his eyes widened.  Zeb experienced a moment of panic as he wondered whether he should have shown Ezra that; he was, after all, still a kid.

There was a second moment of panic when he realized that Ezra might leap to the wrong conclusion about why Zeb had it in a drawer by his bed.

“Um,” Ezra said.

“I brought it back because I didn’t want it blowing onto the base and being found by someone,” Zeb told him.  “And I’m going to present my findings to Hera later, I brought a few things back to show her.”

Ezra’s cheeks had darkened as he had opened the cover.  “I can’t believe they actually print stuff like this,” he muttered.

Yeah, he really shouldn’t have shown that to the kid.  He was going to end up having nightmares about it or something.  The Imperial military was terrifying enough; members of the Imperial military in various states of undress was… not pleasant.  He supposed the thing had been created as some kind of propaganda, designed to lure people into enlisting.  He wondered whether it had worked, because as far as he was concerned it would have the opposite effect.

Ezra turned another page, then closed the magazine quickly and handed it back to Zeb, holding it out between his thumb and forefinger like he didn’t even want to touch it.  “One good thing about going blind,” he said.  “At least soon I won’t have to worry about accidentally seeing something like that.”  He froze the instant it left his lips, shock, surprise and embarrassment obvious in his expression.  The words had clearly slipped out without his permission.

Zeb stilled too, turned half away from Ezra to put the offending item back in the drawer.  He watched Ezra out of the corner of his eye, looking for a cue, something to tell him how he needed to react.  Nothing came.

Zeb closed the drawer, shutting the magazine away, turned, and smiled as though he hadn’t noticed anything.  “Heh,” he said.  “Yeah, there is that at least.”

Ezra laughed.  It sounded embarrassed and unsure, but it was genuine, and it chased the tension from the room.  “I didn’t mean that,” he said when he was done.  “It’s not.  Not good, I mean.”

Zeb nodded, it was the kind of thing that didn’t really need to be said, but there was an urgency to Ezra’s tone, like it was vitally important that Zeb know it wasn’t true.  “Yeah, I know,” he assured him.  “Don’t worry, as bad jokes go, that’s not even close to the worst one I’ve heard.  Or made, for that matter.  You need to try harder.”

Ezra gave him a lopsided smile.  He sat up in bed and swung his legs around to hang from the side of the bunk.  He folded his arms across his body again.  “Kanan says it’s going to be okay,” he said.  “I mean, he would say that — he’s not going to say the other thing, is he? — but he’s okay now.  I think.  So I mean, maybe…”

Zeb sighed heavily.  He pulled out his large chair and sank down into it with a grunt.  “In my experience, anything can turn out okay in the end,” he said.  “Want some advice?”

The kid frowned like he couldn’t possibly think what advice Zeb might be able to offer him, but he shrugged and nodded.

“Hang on to that sense of humor, make as many bad jokes as you can.  The more awkward the better.  Trust me, it’ll help.”

Ezra’s frown deepened slightly.

“I dunno,” Zeb said.  “You already had to deal with more than your fair share of crappy things, maybe you figured that out already.” 

“Not good jokes?” Ezra asked.

Zeb shrugged.  There couldn’t possibly be any good jokes about this.  Not right now, anyway.  “I doubt you’ve ever made a good joke in your life, kid, so I don’t think you’re about to start now.  But no, anyway.  How it works is bad jokes bring the tension up about as high as it can go, everyone feels so awkward that when it’s over things feel better for a while.”

Ezra was still frowning, unconvinced.  “Wouldn’t making everyone feel bad every time you open your mouth kind of undo that?”

“Did I say ‘every time you open your mouth’? You choose your moments, sometimes it’ll work better than others.  Like now; we’re actually talking, if you hadn’t noticed.  Think that would have happened if you hadn’t said what you did?”

“You’ve thought about that a lot, haven’t you?” Ezra said.

Actually, no.  Not until this moment.  It was something he had done reflexively at the worst times of his life, but he had never actually sat down and thought about what he was doing, or why.  But now that he had, it made a lot of sense.  “That’s right,” he said.  “You know me, I’m a big thinker.”

Ezra lapsed into silence, and for a moment Zeb followed his lead.  It was late, they should sleep.  But he had been halfway there when Ezra had tried to sneak in, and being woken from that state usually meant he would have trouble getting back there.  Ezra didn’t look ready for sleep in the slightest; for a start, apart from his boots, he was still fully dressed.

“I’m getting the impression you had a rough day,” Zeb told him.  It was a fair bet anyway; they were probably all rough days at the moment, but there was something about Ezra tonight, something about the way that he had tried to get himself to bed without seeing, something about the joke he had made, and about the tension that was visible in his whole body, that spoke of something significant that had happened.

Ezra shrugged.  “Nothing I can’t handle,” he said.

That was good, because whatever it was, the chances were pretty good that there was more of it coming his way.  “Yeah, I know,” Zeb assured him.  “But do you know what makes any bad day better?”

“Is this  _more_  advice?” Ezra asked.

“More like an offer,” Zeb told him.  “C’mon, get out of bed.  I’ve got a pack of waffles with our names on it, and you can tell me about whatever it is.”

Ezra blinked in confusion, then grinned.  “Wait, you’re not actually  _admitting_  to having a secret waffle stash, are you?”

“What? No!” He had no idea how his private store had become such an open secret, but he wasn’t about to make it official.  If he did, he might be asked to surrender it.  All he had to do was get Ezra out of the room first so that he could retrieve the waffles.  “Told you a million times, there’s no secret stash.  I just happened to notice some in the kitchen this morning.”

“Riiight.” Ezra jumped down from the bunk and peered at Zeb suspiciously.  “Funny, because I was looking for some for breakfast, and  _I_  didn’t see any.”

Zeb shrugged dismissively, and hoped he’d read the mood right.  “Yeah, well, you probably missed them.  You  _are_  going blind,” he said.

Ezra paused, like he was deciding how to react to that, then he rolled his eyes.  “Fair enough,” he said, and headed out the door, like he knew exactly why Zeb wanted him out of the room first.

Which he probably did, but as long as he didn’t know where the waffles were hidden, Zeb didn’t care.


	2. Chapter 2

Ezra watched Zeb as he leaned forward over his plate, closed his eyes and took a slow breath in, savoring the scent of the waffles.  Zeb waved a hand above the plate, encouraging the smell to rise to fill his nostrils, and smiled like it was the most wonderful thing he had ever experienced.  Ezra leaned forward too, and took a sniff himself.  They smelled okay, but eating them would be better.  He picked one up; it was still so warm it burnt his fingers.  He shifted it in his grip, waiting for it to cool a little, then bit into it, tearing at it with his teeth.  He kept the remainder in his hand as he chewed and swallowed.

Zeb watched, then shook his head critically.  “You’re doing it wrong,” he said.

That made no sense.  There was no wrong way to eat.  Well, as long as you ended up with the food in your mouth, there was no wrong way to eat.  Ezra bit his waffle again, taking a smaller bite this time, just in case that was the problem.

Zeb rolled his eyes and picked up the bottle of syrup.  He had placed it on the table before he had served up the waffles, positioning it carefully in its usual place, to the top left of his plate.  The triangular waffles were stacked artfully on the plate, one on top of another, but misaligned so that when he poured the syrup into the centre of the top waffle, it cascaded down all the sides in thin trickles and pooled in the bottom.  Zeb looked down at his handiwork, and smiled in a very satisfied way.

“Wow,” Ezra said.  Zeb looked up, surprised at the interruption to his ritual.  “I knew you liked these, but I mean, you  _really_  like them, don’t you?”

“They’re pretty good,” Zeb told him, with a shrug.  “Nothing like the ones we used to have back on Lasan though.  When you bit into them, they had this kind of a crunch to them that you just don’t seem to be able to get anywhere else.  They were firmer, too; had more substance to them.  And bigger, obviously.  These are barely two bites, even for you.  They smell almost identical though.”

Ezra looked at the waffle appraisingly.  It would have to be two really big bites, but he thought he could manage it.  He wasn’t going to try it; he didn’t think Zeb would appreciate the attempt.

Zeb didn’t talk about his homeworld often, but Ezra knew it was a difficult subject for him.  He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to lose  _everything_  like that.  His own meager losses paled in comparison to the enormity of an entire world; a people.  “You must really miss it,” he said quietly.

Zeb combined a nod and a shrug into some kind of dismissive gesture of agreement.  “The waffles?” he asked, deliberately misunderstanding.  “Yeah, but these are a decent substitute.”

Ezra let the subject drop, there was no point explaining what he had meant, especially not when he was sure that Zeb already knew.  Ezra had become an expert at dodging a subject recently, and he recognized it when he saw it in others.

Zeb reached for his fork.  Holding it carefully in his large hands, he used the edge to cut one of the corners from the triangular waffle.  Syrup spilled from the round indentations onto his plate.  He speared the piece of waffle with his fork, ran it through the syrup on his plate, and put it in his mouth.  He licked his lips, and smiled, like suddenly all was right with the world.

Ezra poured a blob of syrup on the side of his own plate, dipped his waffle and took another bite.  

“So,” Zeb said.  He broke off another chunk of waffle and put it in his mouth.  “Go on then.”

Ezra frowned.  The waffle was reaching the stage where it had cooled enough to begin to crisp up just slightly at the edges.  He took a bite without syrup this time, savoring the crunch as his teeth bit into the thing.  He wondered if they were more like the ones Zeb was used to, at that stage of the cooling process.

“What?” he asked.

“That was the deal.  I give you waffles, you tell me what happened today.”

Actually, he  _had_  said that.  Ezra had forgotten the second part of the deal, focussing only on the food.

“What makes you think something happened?” he asked.

Zeb sighed.  He speared the final piece of his first waffle with his fork, dragged it around the edge of his plate soaking up stray syrup and leaving a sticky smear in its wake.  He ate it, licked his lips, and looked at Ezra expectantly, waiting.  He didn’t answer the question.

“Nothing happened,” Ezra told him.

Zeb got to work on his second waffle, chopping off the first corner and watching as syrup spilled onto his plate again.

“Really,” Ezra insisted.  He wasn’t even lying.  The more he thought over the events of the day — and he had done little else since he had left Kanan’s quarters after their first official lesson — the more he realized that really, nothing had changed.

He wasn’t any more grounded than he had been yesterday, just because he knew now what he needed to do to get back on missions.  He wasn’t losing his sight any faster just because Kanan had started to tell him some of what he needed to expect.  He was in exactly the same position now as he had been at the start of the day.  A better one, in fact, because now he had some more information.

It wasn’t information that he particularly wanted, of course, but he recognized that they were things he needed to know.

Zeb scoffed as he popped another piece of waffle into his mouth.  “So you expect me to believe that absolutely nothing happened today; you just spent the whole day sitting in a corner not talking to anybody?”

“No, obviously not.” Ezra sighed as he tried to think of the best way to explain.  “It’s just, you’re thinking something bad happened and…” he stopped.  He didn’t mean to; it was as though his throat closed up against his will, refusing to allow any more words to pass through.  Tears pricked the corners of his eyes and his lips curled as he tried to force himself not to cry.

He didn’t  _need_  to cry.  He had no reason to; nothing had happened, nothing had changed.

He put down his last bite of waffle, raised a hand to cover his mouth and forced out a cough in the futile hope that it would cover the shapes his face was making as he tried to stave off the embarrassing display.  He was lying; something  _had_  happened, it  _was_  happening, and it was going to keep happening until…

Until it was done.

Until that day came when Hera accepted that he didn’t need those appointments with Noisi anymore.

There was going to be an upside to losing his sight after all…

He wasn’t going to say that, though.  Even though Zeb would probably be pleased to hear another attempt at a joke, he just wasn’t in the mood; he didn’t want to talk about Noisi right now.  Or ever, if he could help it.

Of course, he wasn’t really in the mood to talk about anything, but it didn’t look like he was going to be able to get away with that.  He was going to have to say something, so he decided to go with the truth, or a version of it.

He took a deep breath and tried to force the tremble out of his voice.  “Hera told me what I need to do to get back on missions,” he said carefully.

Zeb didn’t answer immediately.  Ezra stared down at his plate, listening to the sound of chewing from the other side of the table.  Finally, when he dragged his gaze up to see Zeb’s reaction, Zeb was looking at him, his eyes full of concern and understanding.  Ezra scowled.

“She tricked me,” he said.  No, she hadn’t, it had just felt that way at the time.  He sighed and shook his head.  “No, she didn’t, but I thought she was going to tell me I was back, then it turned out I have to jump through a bunch of hoops to even have a  _chance_  at maybe getting back on missions, and do you want know the worst part?”

Zeb didn’t reply, but he didn’t say no.

“They didn’t even agree on it.  Kanan and Hera, I mean.  Hera just went ahead and made all these stupid decisions, and she didn’t even bother to find out what Kanan thought about it first.  How is that fair? If they can’t even agree…”

“Why should they agree?” Zeb asked.

Ezra stopped, mid thought, and stared at him.  “Because…” he said, “because Hera’s in charge of the crew, but Kanan’s in charge of…” of him? Of the Jedi? Of knowing about being blind? “Other stuff,” he finished.

Zeb nodded.  He put down his fork, his plate empty.  “Eat your waffles,” he said.  “They’re not as good cold.”

Ezra looked down at his plate where two whole waffles and a piece of a third were waiting.  They were fine cold, actually.  But warm was good too.  He picked up the last piece of his first one and shoved it in his mouth.

Zeb nodded, satisfied.  “Hera’s in charge, period,” he said.  “You don’t know this because you’ve never been in command.  I don’t mean leading a mission, I’m talking about running a squadron, having to make all the decisions.  She’s responsible for every man and woman in Phoenix Squadron.  If something goes wrong, it’s on her; she has to live with it.  Eat another waffle.”

Ezra blinked, momentarily confused by the sudden change of subject, but picked up a second waffle, dipped it in his syrup, and bit into it.  

“A leader has to do what’s best for the mission, and sometimes that means making unpopular decisions.  It wouldn’t have mattered if Kanan agreed or not, it’s up to her.  If she wants to run things by someone else who might have different ideas, or who knows more about something, that’s fine, but she’s not obligated to do that.”

Ezra tried to reply around a mouthful of waffle, and realized why Zeb had been so insistent that he eat.  “I know that…” he started to say.

“Yeah, you think you do, but until you’ve had to make those kinds of decisions, you don’t  _really_  know,” Zeb told him.  “I had to make some pretty unpopular decisions myself, back when.  It’s not nice, nobody likes it.  But it’s the right thing to do.” He paused, glanced down at his empty plate, and then looked across the table at Ezra.  “Don’t take this the wrong way, kid, but I’m with Hera on this one.”

Ezra finally swallowed the chunk of dry waffle.  “You don’t even know what she said,” he protested.

“It doesn’t matter.  That’s how a command structure works.  But if she said you’re not ready yet, she’s right; you’re not.”

Ezra folded his arms and stared across the table at Zeb, not sure what to say to that.

“I don’t mean that how it sounds,” Zeb added.  “You’re not supposed to be ready, not yet.  Nobody could be.”

“Great, thanks,” Ezra said dejectedly.  He picked up the syrup again, and this time poured it directly onto his remaining waffle, letting it pool in the round holes until it spilled over the edge onto the plate.  He picked up his fork and speared the saturated waffle, raised the whole thing to his mouth, and took a large bite.

Zeb frowned as he watched.  “So, these hoops you say you have to jump through,” he said.  “What are they?”

Ezra took another large bite to buy himself some time while he decided how to explain.   He lowered the remaining piece of waffle, still speared on his fork, to the plate and slowly dragged it in a circle around the edge, smearing syrup behind it.

“She gave me a choice,” he said.  “I can either start being more honest, see the med droid regularly and have a contingency plan for anything that might go wrong on missions, or I can learn how to do everything I can now, but without seeing.”

Zeb nodded thoughtfully.  Ezra lifted the final piece of waffle, dripping excess syrup, to his mouth and ate it slowly.

“So,” Zeb said finally.  “You’re going with the second option?”

Ezra stared at him, surprised.  “Yeah, actually.  How did you know?”

“It makes sense.  I mean, you’re going to have to be able to do that eventually anyway, right? You might as well get started now; doing something else instead might work for a short time, but sooner or later you’ll, well… you know.”

And he did.  Zeb was right, and that was basically the same thing that Ezra had said himself, but hearing it coming from someone else, that almost casual acceptance of what was going to happen… It felt strange.   “Hera thinks I should do the other thing,” he said.  “Kanan too.  And Sabine, I think.”

“Well, I’ll try not to be offended that you’ve talked to everyone but me about this.”

Ezra grinned.  “Not everyone; I haven’t spoken to Chopper,” he said.  “I mean, he probably knows already, but  _I_  haven’t told him.  Anyway, you’re the only person who’s given me waffles, or who’s agreed with me.” Not about Hera making the decision on her own, but Zeb made a good point there.  “You really think I’m doing the right thing?”

Zeb shrugged.  “I don’t think there’s any way to know for sure,” he said.  “Not until you try it and find out how it goes.  But if you want to cover all your bases, do both.  You can’t spend every moment learning from Kanan, and I don’t imagine you’d want to, so why not try the other things Hera suggested too? Who knows, you might find it helpful.”

“Going to see Noisi?” Ezra pulled a face.  “That droid needs a full personality transplant, and it’s not like he can do anything to help, so what’s the point?”

He was rehashing old arguments now, the same ones he had used with Hera earlier in the day, and it wasn’t going to make any difference, especially because Zeb didn’t have any say in the decision.

“Because Hera told you to, and she’s in charge of deciding when you’re back on duty.  You want to get back on duty, so…” Zeb tailed off, leaving the thought hanging in the air.

Ezra sighed deeply.  Zeb was right.

“Or just do what it sounds like you were going to do anyway, forget the other stuff and learn how to do what Kanan does.  But you know, being prepared to deal with whatever comes at you isn’t a bad thing, it’s something we should all be doing anyway, and don’t take this the wrong way, but there’s a lot more you’re going to have to think about going forward.”

Unless, of course, he learned how to do everything without seeing.

No, actually, even then.  People he met were going to notice, and he was going to have to think about how he would deal with that.  Even if he could reach Kanan’s level of awareness, he was still going to run into things that he just couldn’t do, because he knew that Kanan did.  When that happened, he would need to know what to do about it.

“Yeah, I guess,” he muttered, then reached out an index finger and drew a line in the syrup pooling in the center of his plate.  He brought it to his mouth and licked it away.  He considered licking the plate, but that might be a step too far with Zeb sitting right there opposite him.  Instead, he ran his finger across the plate again, in a zig-zag line this time.

“So that was the whole thing?” Zeb asked.  “I’m getting the impression there’s more to it than that.”

“More to what? To what Hera said? No, that was about it.”

Zeb shook his head, then copied Ezra by dipping his own finger in the syrup left on his plate.  “More to what’s bothering you.  More to what happened today.”

Right.  Well, he wasn’t wrong, but Ezra didn’t really want to get into the whole list of difficult truths Kanan had told him.  He didn’t even want to think about them right now.  Suddenly, he felt very tired, and he wondered what time it was.  It hadn’t exactly been early when he had crept into their quarters.

He raised a hand to his mouth to stifle a yawn.  “There’s not much more to it,” he said.  “After Hera, I went to talk to Kanan.”

“Went to tell him what Hera had said?” Zeb caught the yawn, and Ezra watched him cover his own mouth with his whole arm and then blink heavily.

Ezra shook his head.  “No, I thought he already knew,” he said.  “I wanted to start some real lessons, what we’ve been doing so far’s been kinda…” non-existent.  “Anyway, I guess I took him by surprise, since he didn’t actually know any of this was happening, and he’d just gotten out of the shower, and Hera beat me there, but he did tell me some stuff, and it was…” he stopped again, took a deep breath that turned into another yawn, “…truthful,” he said quietly.

He watched as Zeb’s frown of incomprehension turned into understanding, and looked away, not wanting to see pity in his eyes.

“Which I guess is a good thing, but at the time it just felt…”

“Cruel.”

Ezra blinked, and looked back up at Zeb, surprised at the vehemence in his tone.

“Kanan of all people should know how  _not_  to handle this.  Want me to talk to him?”

“What?” Ezra shook his head.  “No.  It wasn’t like that.  It was stuff I want… needed to know.” He leaned forward, resting his head in his hands as he continued to turn it from side to side in denial of Zeb’s misunderstanding.  “It’s fine, it just wasn’t great timing, but that was my own fault.  And it wasn’t as bad as you’re thinking.”

Zeb sighed.  “Okay, kid.  Your call; you were there, not me.  But I remember what Kanan was like back when you first came back from Malachor, and if this is dragging up those memories for him — and how could it not be? — just make sure you don’t let him scare you.”

“Any more than I already am, you mean?” Ezra said, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

“Yeah.  Exactly.  You want more waffles? I’m sure I saw another pack at the back of the cabinet.”

Ezra smiled and shook his head.  “You still won’t admit you have your own supply.”

“That’s right, because I don’t.  You want some, or not?”

“No.” Ezra shook his head and stuffed another yawn.  “I should probably get to bed.”

He reached for his plate to clear it away, but Zeb stopped him with a hand on his arm.  “I’ll do it,” he said.  “There’s a special technique for destroying the evidence of midnight waffles.  One day I might even teach you.”

Ezra pushed his plate a little closer to Zeb, and shook his head.  “Better leave it a while, I’m going to have enough to learn for the time being.”

**Author's Note:**

> ♥ comments are loved ♥


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